


Secrets

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Meta, Metafiction, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:59:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10111037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: John and Sherlock discover fan fiction about themselves, neither one admitting it to the other. Eventually, one makes a connection between fiction and real life...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came about from two related prompts on facebook. I've included them in the notes at the end as there are spoilers for this story. : )
> 
> Oh, and the fan fic that's quoted is mine - [Only One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9125260), a NYE 221b ficlet I wrote.

Part 1 – Sherlock’s secret

Sherlock may have appeared to be bored, but under his half-closed lids, the sharp eyes followed John’s slow progress as he readied himself for the day. He meandered through the flat, eating toast and packing his bag; finding his laptop cord and looking for matching socks. The casual way John was moving irritated him, but he could not be rushed, and Sherlock did not want to draw attention to his impatience.

When Sherlock had first stumbled on the fan fiction website, he’d been slightly horrified, then fascinated. People ‘shipped’ he and John; he’d had to look the word up (since when had it been a verb?) and the definition had raised his eyebrows beyond the curls at his forehead. Tentatively at first, Sherlock read a short story about himself and John working a case. Then another, a ‘fluff piece’ about them at home on a Sunday; it was woefully inaccurate yet charming. He’d had to create a mental document for the terms he had come across; apart from the verb ‘to ship’ in all its forms, there was ‘fluff’ and ‘PWP’ and ‘Jawn’; Johnlock made an appearance, as did the more surprising JohnStrade and the frankly alarming JohnlockStrade. While Johnlock had fascinated him in a way he didn’t understand, as he’d delved into the imaginative and varied stories, he’d steered clear of anything involving anyone else (and there was every combination known, people obviously read the news – Irene Adler and even James Moriarty earned a mention). The idea of John with anyone else had stirred an oddly negative impulse in him – protective and resentful. Jealous, really. And himself with anyone except John made his skin crawl. John was different, as always.

Finally, finally, John departed, admonishing Sherlock for his lack of clothes in the cool air, which Sherlock of course ignored. He was as a statue until the front door slammed, and then Sherlock sprang up, reaching for his laptop. It had been buried beneath a pile of mail, which fluttered to the floor as Sherlock opened the computer, settling his cold feet under himself in his chair. He opened his browser, the homepage a familiar red and white text page. Sherlock looked guiltily at the door before entering a string of search terms. His eyes gleamed as he looked over the results, selecting those that piqued his interest. In general, Sherlock took his mind palace for granted, but in this new venture he was profoundly grateful for it. His library had been greatly expanded to accommodate the new titles, which he collected in his usual obsessive way. At night, when John was home, Sherlock was able to browse the library, revisiting his favourite stories without leaving the sofa. John still assumed he was thinking about a case, or an experiment; he couldn’t know that Sherlock’s attention was on the various scenarios dreamed up by their multitude of fans. There was no way that Sherlock would ever let John know about this, he would only be embarrassed. It was bad enough that it existed, let alone that Sherlock was sinking low enough to read it.

 

Part 2 – John’s secret

John had felt guilty getting ready this morning. He’d been slower than usual, the urgency not present as he had a secret – he did not have a shift today. It was carefully arranged to look like he was going to work (must remember to wear the right shoes, Sherlock always noticed the shoes), and he’d been concentrating on the details so much he’d almost forgotten the cord to his laptop. Marching down Baker Street, John caught his usual train, though he did not alight at his usual stop; the café two streets over had free wi-fi and his usual table was next to a power point and, most importantly, his screen was not visible to anyone else. Bad enough he was sneaking out of his own house to sit on his laptop all day; knowing anyone else could see what he was doing was bad enough.

Glancing around, John opened his browser, the homepage a familiar red and white text page. John hesitated, then looked to his bookmarks, bringing up one of his favourite stories. After one too many sniggers from behind hands at NSY, he’d cornered Lestrade, who had offered a sympathetic grin before telling him, “Google Johnlock, all one word. Do it at work, not at home.” John had frowned, thought at work that day he had caved and Googled it. He’d been gobsmacked at the results, confused and then flushed pink as he understood. Despite himself, John found himself clicking on a link to a story, the tale of himself and Sherlock farfetched and yet somehow comforting. John clicked on another link, and then another; before he knew it, an hour had passed, his lunch break gone. There was no way he’d be able to do this at Baker Street; Sherlock used his laptop regularly, no matter how often he changed the password. He’d have to find another place…

And that was how John found himself sitting in this café, the waitress bringing his usual without asking, reading and saving dozens and dozens of stories about himself and Sherlock to his external hard drive. He’d been careful to clear his history, get rid of the cookies and hide the hard drive in the back of the pantry (no chance of Sherlock looking in there). Initially he’d looked for stories about their friendship; fictional cases, ideas of how their domestic life worked. One story he thought would run that way had turned, however, the John and Sherlock in the story kissing as the bell tolled the New Year. It was a short story, 221 words, which seemed to be a thing; a reference to their address he presumed. John found his face warming as he considered the scenario, putting himself and the real Sherlock in their place. It wasn’t unappealing, he thought, then pushed the idea aside. It became one of his favourites, however, John reading it several times a week, though he had it memorised. He ventured further into the ‘Johnlock’ territory, too, reading stories about himself and Sherlock in increasingly intimate scenarios. Every now and again, John swallowed hard, or shook his head at himself. Who would have guessed he would enjoy such stories?  

 

Part 3 – IDontUnderstand435

John smiled perfunctorily at the waitress, whom he was fairly sure had been flirting with him since he first started spending Wednesdays here. Unfortunately for her, he’d been looking up gay porn about himself and his flatmate, John thought wryly. Over the weeks, he’d admitted to himself that while ‘gay’ might not be the right label for him, ‘straight’ was certainly not completely accurate either. He’d also come across the tag ‘Porn Without Plot’ and, after a fierce blush had come and gone, clicked on it and started reading. The scenarios were imaginative, the physical contortions sometimes bizarre, but they all had one thing in common – they were hot as hell, John thought. He had more of these stories than he’d like to admit, even to himself. They raised questions for John with which he seemed to wrestle daily, now. He watched Sherlock differently, sometimes imagining them in one of the various scenarios he had been reading about, the redness to his cheeks hot to the touch. John knew that Sherlock often looked at him oddly in these moments, and he excused himself, the tightness of his pants increasingly an issue as he pondered more and more explicit scenes. Neither of them had ever mentioned it, and John was certainly not going to be the first to bring up this particular train of thought.

His email showed several new messages, including one from Harry (perfunctory reply), one from an old Army buddy looking for a wingman (delete), and two notifications from the fiction site. His favourite author had updated with two chapters, and John’s heart skipped a beat in excitement. He clicked the link, following it through to the most recent chapters. Eagerly, John read the chapters, then read them again. He groaned – such a cliffhanger! This author was a bugger for it, making the readers wait; his vivid description of their world, however, made John hang on every word. There were differences from real life, of course, but the sense of it was familiar. The story so far was of two friends; the case they were working had taken them to Sussex, and fictional-John was realising that fictional-Sherlock, despite his own assertions of sociopathy, was actually harbouring a deep emotional connection to fictional-John. Real-life-John was hooked, captivated by the developing relationship. It seemed so real, so accurate in the depiction of both of them that he waited impatiently for each new chapter. Every time a new chapter was published, IDontUnderstand435 commented some version of, “I love this! Please keep going, I have to know what happens!” Sometimes, in between chapter updates, John logged on again, commenting on the writing, or the characterisation, just to make a link to this person. He had no idea who it was, of course, but John felt connected to them, whoever they were.

 

Part 4 – TheConsultingDetective221b

It was a good distraction, possibly one of the best he’d found, outside of crime and cocaine, of course. The challenge was to make it believable and yet not too accurate. In the beginning he simply had to create a reasonable facsimile of their life in Baker Street, which was not difficult. Creating a case was simple enough, given his experience and the complexity of his mind. It was the details he found hard; the intimacies of life. There had been no space in his mind palace for the kind of detail he saw in other stories, detail of emotion and reaction that he simply did not recall, though he would probably have deleted it anyway. He found himself observing his reaction to the people around him, analysing and cataloging his responses to various scenarios, and theirs to stimuli he provided. Mainly, though, Sherlock watched John more closely in order to further his descriptive ability, which gave him a new appreciation for the details of John’s appearance and manner. It also made him realise that John blushed rather more than the average person. Why had he never noticed that before? There was already a whole room for John in the mind palace. It must be new, he decided, though the reason eluded him.

Recently, Sherlock had noticed that John spent far more time on his laptop than he used to, even though his blog output was the same as it always had been; his explanation too convenient to be true, even if Sherlock had not performed an analysis of his blog posts in the past and recently. There was nothing else for it, so one day when John was at Tesco, Sherlock hacked his laptop, looking for whatever it was that had been occupying John so completely.

When John returned, it appeared that Sherlock had not moved in his absence. The closed eyes however, masked the speed at which his mind was analysing data and extrapolating it to possible solutions. John’s laptop had been annoyingly clean, but Sherlock had run a couple of programs against it anyway. He’d found two interesting pieces of information, and his struggle now was to believe the evidence. This was a new experience, questioning the evidence, but the consequences of the clear explanation was overwhelming. John’s keystroke log clearly showed the same sequence of keys soon after he logged in each time – ‘-I-D-o-n-t-U-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d-4-3-5-J-o-h-n-H-a-m-i-s-h-W-a-t-s-o-n’, clearly a username and password. Coupled with the file names of the recent PDF files he’d been reading – some of which had been familiar – Sherlock could draw only one conclusion – John was reading and commenting on the fan fiction Sherlock was writing. He was enjoying it too, if his comments were anything to go by. He’d commented on each chapter so far, sometimes more than once. Sherlock was comforted a little by the knowledge that John was aware of the ‘Johnlock’ phenomenon and was at least accepting enough to read the fiction; Sherlock had looked up all the recent stories John had read and some were distinctly PWP. His analysis now was based on how this knowledge affected him. If he was honest with himself, a novel idea, Sherlock would welcome the advancement of their relationship from platonic to romantic. There was no way, though, that he could bring it up with John, let alone make a move, so how to go about it? For such a comprehensive mind, it took him a long time to make the leap, but when he did, Sherlock bounded off the couch and into his bedroom, slamming the door.

 

Part 5 – real-life-John and real-life-Sherlock

_New chapter of “At Home at Baker Street” by TheConsultingDetective221b_

_Chapter 8 – interlude_

_It was just like the story he’d read, Sherlock thought, the one he’d re-read and re-read, dreaming of such a moment in his own life, knowing he was too afraid to make the first move. In the story it was New Year’s Eve, and in Sherlock’s head, it was he and John rather than the characters standing by a window watching snow drift across the street. They had talked of wasted opportunities, and Sherlock had wanted to move closer to John, held back by his own fears. In the story John had been careful with his heart and they had kissed as the bells quietly rang in the New Year at 221b Baker Street._

_+++_

_Sherlock awoke from the dream, regret in his heart that he would never be able to take the first step. If only his John could find the courage. Surely, the man who was a fighter, hands as steady as a rock under stress, who knew Sherlock’s secret – that he risked his life to prove he’s clever, though he’s an idiot – could find it in himself to risk this._

 

John’s mouth hung open, the coffee cup halfway to his lips. The chapter was tiny, not even 200 words, and it lacked the flair of the usual writing. It was an odd tone, too, sentimental and tentative, he thought. Reading it again, a flutter started in his stomach as he read the last sentence. There was real information there, things about real-life-John…” _he risked his life to prove he’s clever, though he’s an idiot”_ … that was from the first night, the first crazy night before he met Mycroft and they ate Chinese food. _“If only his John could find the courage.”_ His John… _His_ John, John thought dazedly. His eyes moved back to the pseudonym of the writer. ‘TheConsultingDetective221b’. He blinked. What if it really _was_ the consulting detective? Who else could know those things? And the chapter was so out of character, which meant it was posted for another purpose. To send a message then. John was the only person who would see anything other than a slightly weird chapter, so what was the message then, if it was for John to understand? His eyes raked the text again. _“…dreaming of such a moment in his own life, knowing he was too afraid to make the first move…they had talked of wasted opportunities…John had been careful with his heart and they had kissed…”_

“Bloody hell.” John muttered to himself, leaning back. This was not what he was expecting, yet the butterflies inside were more anticipatory nerves than queasy ones. He was looking forward to this moment, he realised, and there was no better moment. Filled with the certainty of his deductions, John ran out of the café, clutching his laptop and hailing a cab for Baker Street.

+++

He was puffing hard when he entered, having sprinted up the stairs. Sherlock was dressed, which was a nice change, standing by the hearth, trying for calm and failing miserably, John noted with affection. His heart swelled as he saw the vulnerability under the aloof veneer.

“No snow.” John commented, and Sherlock nodded.

“And it’s not midnight, or even New Year ’s Eve.” John continued, walking slowly into the room, trying to even his breathing, fighting both his lack of fitness and his nerves. Sherlock’s eyes hadn’t left him, and John was holding his gaze, determined this moment play out, whatever the outcome. They had waited and wanted long enough.

“But we’ve had those, and wasted them. Such wasted opportunities…” John murmured, and Sherlock’s breath hitched, swallowing as John stepped closer, inside his personal space now, their bodies a hair’s breadth apart.

“No regrets this time.” John said, echoing the last lines of the story he knew Sherlock had paraphrased, John’s favourite. As their fictional counterparts had done so many times, real-life-John and real-life-Sherlock finally kissed, their lips meeting tenderly, sliding over one another in a motion more intimate and fulfilling than any story Sherlock had ever read.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand...more secrets! By which I mean both someone asked and I was thinking, 'what comes next?'
> 
> I've embraced the Meta in this one, using lots of references to RL. All the authors listed are real, AO3 publishing authors - check them out, they all write wonderful Sherlock stories.  
> notjustmom was the first to post kudos on my first ever fic - yes, I remember it clearly!  
> 221bsweetheart, EchoSilverWolf, FourCornersHolmes, scarletmanuka, KaraRenee, TheColdEastWind, George_Sand, CasMonster1, and DownpourOfFeels all read and comment regularly on my work so they deserve a shout out!
> 
> 'Intention', the story John writes is a direct lift of part of another of my works, 'That Voice', part 17 of the Speaking In Tongues series. Check it out if you liked the bit you saw here. ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this. <3

Part 6 – FirstDraftDeductions

“So you’ve been reading these for a while, then?” John and Sherlock were tangled together on the couch, still in the new-relationship haze from last week’s revelation. There had been a lot of blushing and stammering, especially on John’s behalf, as they realised they had both been reading fictional accounts of their relationship long before they had actually had that kind of a relationship. John sincerely hoped that they would never get to the point of discussing their favourite PWP stories or he might melt into a puddle of shame, no matter how hot he might think they were. He couldn’t image being comfortable enough with anyone, even Sherlock, to so explicitly detail his fantasies. Not in real life, anyway.

Sherlock nodded, answering John’s earlier question. “The first one I read was a fluff piece about John and Sherlock eating dinner at Angelo’s, by notjustmom. It was interesting, if inaccurate, so I went looking for stories with less inaccuracies but the same tone.” He flushed and looked completely adorable, John thought.

“Who are your favourite authors?” John wanted to know. He wondered if they shared some favourites, though there were so many good ones that he supposed that was unlikely. And perhaps…

“The usuals – bigblueboxat221b is completely brilliant, of course, and I like KaraRenee, TheColdEastWind, George_Sand, CasMonster1, DownpourOfFeels…there are so many good ones, but these are the least inaccurate.” Sherlock said. John felt a twinge of both relief and disappointment, but he ignored it. John had wondered for a moment if…

“What about you?” Sherlock asked John, and he scrambled to think. “Errr…221bsweetheart, EchoSilverWolf, FourCornersHolmes, scarletmanuka…” his heart started beating faster, “oh, and FirstDraftDeductions.”

Sherlock frowned, then his brow cleared. “FirstDraftDeductions? Yes that’s quite an interesting collection of works. Chronologically, the stories begin platonically and shift to romance, then some quite explicit smut, as I recall.”

John nodded, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck to hide the pink stain on his own cheeks. “So you’re a fan then?” He couldn’t resist asking.

Sherlock shrugged. “Not all of the dialogue seemed authentic, and the cases were of the usual subpar level, however the characterisation is generally very good and I must say that the explicit scenes are interesting and obviously exhaustively researched. The realism is quite remarkable. John?”

This last remark was directed at John, who by now was shaking with laughter in Sherlock’s arms. He pulled himself together enough to gasp, “Exhaustively researched?” before losing it again in a gale of laughter. Sherlock rolled his eyes and waited, tightening his arms around John so he would not fall over the edge of the couch. Finally, John settled against Sherlock’s chest again.

“Well?” Sherlock asked.

John smiled at him. “Just that turn of phrase, Sherlock. I know all the stories by that author, and that would be a heck of a lot of research.”

“True.” Sherlock agreed. They fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the closeness they’d discovered in this new aspect of their relationship.

 _“Thank goodness he didn’t realise I’m FirstDraftDeductions,”_ John thought to himself. _“Extensively researched my arse. I’d never hear the end of it!”_

Sherlock gave a secret little smile out of sight of John. _“Thank goodness he didn’t realise I was teasing him. I wonder how long until he realises I know he’s FirstDraftDeductions?”_

Part 7 – Intention Revealed

Gasping, John collapsed backwards onto the mattress, vaguely feeling the thud as Sherlock landed next to him. Now that they had moved past the tentative groping of their new relationship, the sex was incredible, John thought. Sherlock’s ability to read John in _every_ way made him an excellent lover, and the fact that he could remember every technique and wriggle that wrought a pleasure response from John made it that much more effective. John felt a little mediocre in contrast, except that Sherlock seemed to marvel at the fact that John found him even slightly attractive. Not matter how many times John told him (or showed him), Sherlock never really seemed to understand how aroused John became when Sherlock did something sexy, like breathe or walk, let alone when he put some effort into it. They’d delved pretty quickly into an imaginative array of sexual practices, several of which John had heard of but never tried, most of which he suspected Sherlock had stumbled across in a fic somewhere. John himself had a couple of things he was curious to try, but, despite their relative openness, he still felt uncomfortable detailing exactly what he wanted to do to Sherlock – or what he wanted Sherlock to do to him.

His main outlet for this slight sexual frustration was writing his fan fiction. He’d told Sherlock casually that he was going to work through the back catalogue of their cases as an excuse for why he was typing intently so often in the evenings, and sometimes the mornings, too. Sherlock had looked at him for a long moment before nodding. The surprising lack of argument had given John pause, but he shook it off. There was no way that Sherlock could possibly know…

The easiest thing was for his protagonists, called John and Sherlock, of course, to act out his fantasies. It was better than he had hoped in terms of focussing his efforts; by writing from both perspectives, he could effectively get two stories for the one idea. John’s POV (an acronym he’d come across online) was easy, as it was basically his own POV, but Sherlock’s was trickier. He was not one for small talk, or filling a silence. That would probably always be the case; Sherlock was hardly forthcoming, though he would usually answer any question put directly to him. Sherlock had explained to John early on that he tended to get overwhelmed during sex, the sheer volume of sensory input was too much for him to process as talk at the same time. As such, he was largely non-verbal, exhibiting his approval with moans and the occasional gasp of John’s name. But John wanted more.

 

_Draft 1 – Intention, Sherlock’s POV_

_Making his way up the stairs, Sherlock strode into the sitting room, discarding his coat and scarf before pinning a smouldering look on John, exactly the same as he had the previous week. Just as before, John had looked up from his book, done a double take at the intent in those eyes, and grinned. This time, though, when John stepped over to Sherlock, the taller man dipped his head down, mouth almost touching the gentle curve of his ear. He breathed once, deciding what to say, and noted the shudder pass through John as the warm air caressed his ear. Interesting._

_“I’ve been thinking about you.” Sherlock said, settling for something less explicit to begin. The hitch in John’s breath, and the jump in the pulse beating in his neck, were both promising signs. Sherlock deliberately pitched his voice low and gravelly as he continued, “About where I would kiss you first when I came home. Which expanse of skin I would run my lips over first…” to his delight John shuddered again, his hands grabbing at Sherlock’s waist. Who knew, Sherlock thought absently as he catalogued John’s responses, Lestrade might actually know what he’s talking about. His voice, smooth and sensual as silk sheets on cool skin, whispered in John’s ear. “Perhaps this part,” he kissed John’s earlobe, sucking it into his mouth, “or here,” running his open mouth along John’s rough jawline. At that point, John turned his head to kiss Sherlock, and it all became a little fuzzy from there on. Voice low, deep, and dark enough to fall into and willingly drown…words about sensation and experience…_

_…“I’ve been wondering all day what sound you’d make when I…” Sherlock’s mouth closed over one nipple, holding tight as John crowded in to him..._

_…“I love your hands in my hair…” John’s fingers tugged on the dark curls, spikes of sensation thrilling through Sherlock…_

_…“Slowly, let’s see how long before you’re writhing under me…” One button at a time, exposing delicious skin to the symphony of John’s moans…_

_…“More?” Waiting for John’s breathless pleas before lowering his mouth again to John’s body…_

_…“You’re so beautiful like this, ohhhhhh…” John’s spine arched back, eyes closed at the sensation of Sherlock inside him…_

_…“Please, John, look at me…” falling, falling forever into those fathomless eyes…_

_Sherlock’s voice had been the first thing John had really noticed about the detective; his words had tumbled out, tongue almost tripping over itself in his haste to deduce John. In the cab the next night, John had filled the silence thinking about how that voice would sound, low and slow, detailing all the things Sherlock would do to John as he denied himself and took John apart, using that tongue all over his body._

John almost didn’t post ‘Intention’, but it had been a while, and he’d wanted to keep up posting or else he was worried he would fall out of the habit.

‘This is incomplete drabble,’ he wrote in the notes, ‘possibly for a future story. I wanted to post just to let you all know I’m still around, just busier lately.’ He hesitated, then hit ‘Post without Preview’, sending it out into the ether. He sighed and closed his laptop. For some reason, writing that scene had depressed him just a little. He barely registered the ping of Sherlock’s phone, even getting up to fetch it for Sherlock without question. He did notice the curious look on Sherlock’s face but chose to ignore it, instead muttering, “Tea.” as he wandered back into the kitchen. A few moments later, Sherlock followed him in. John didn’t turn around, still fighting the black mood that was descending on him.

“John,” Sherlock said, his voice sounding different than usual.

“Yeah?” John said, reaching for the milk.

“Turn around.” John sighed then did so, picking up the tea to place on the table.

Sherlock was standing by the table in his pyjamas, coat and scarf. He paused a moment, then took off the coat and scarf, discarding them before pinning John with a smouldering stare. John rolled his eyes. He didn’t need the theatrics at 10am on a Wednesday, thanks. As he moved to go around Sherlock, the taller man grabbed his hand, lowering his head to John’s ear. He deliberately allowed his breath to play over John’s ear, tickling and caressing. John frowned. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Sherlock spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” His voice was low and rough, and John froze. He still wasn’t able to move when Sherlock went on, “About where I would kiss you first when I came in here. Which expanse of skin I would run my lips over first...” John felt a shiver run through his body involuntarily, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Shaking his head a little, John  breathed, “You know.”

Sherlock chuckled softly, the exhaled breath skittering across John’s skin like gentle fingers. “I know.”

John’s face was red. “Okay.”

The deep voice sounded again in his ear, picking up the narrative from ‘Intent’. “Perhaps this part” and Sherlock kissed John’s earlobe.

 _“Bloody hell,”_ John thought, _“this is going to be incredible.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by two prompts on facebook which I combined into this story. Prompts were:  
> "Sherlock loves to search fluff fan fictions fans write about him and John. What he doesnt know is that John does the same."
> 
> "I need a fic where Sherlock is writing a johnlock fic and john is following that fic and leaving comments like "update please", but then Sherlock becomes suspicious of how much time does john spend on internet and he is checking his History and bam, his fic is there , aaaaand theeen , he continues writting the fic, with subliminal messages like " Thake Sherlock out for tea, he loves when someone do that"


End file.
